The Colours of Murder

by Ali Carter

  ‘They are in fact my grouse,’ said George whose neck disappeared when his shoulders leant in to the table.

  ‘From your Yorkshire Moor or the Highland Moor?’ asked Stanley who was spooning a breast on to Hailey’s plate.

  ‘Yorkshire.’

  ‘You’re so lucky to have two moors.’

  ‘Yes, double the shooting and double the return invitations.’

  ‘Always driven I presume?’ said Daniel giving me a wink.

  ‘Of course,’ said George jumping at the bait. ‘Why would one ever want a walked-up day? Nothing so exhausting as stomping through heather trying to shoot very few birds. I like to sit in a butt and have coveys sent over me. Driven, always driven.’ George clicked his fingers at Stanley – he wanted two breasts on his plate.

  ‘You’re spoilt my friend,’ said Daniel.

  ‘You’re jolly lucky I say,’ said Stanley pausing with the dripping spoon in the air. ‘Primrose’s father sold his moor last year so my days of driven grouse have gone from thirty odd to sixteen at the most.’

  ‘Stanley!’ Primrose’s voice came hurtling down the table. ‘Watch what you’re doing with that spoon and hurry up – the food’s getting cold.’

  Maybe it was the summer sun mixed with too much booze but suddenly I could detect an increasingly antsy atmosphere at the table.

  ‘Charlie,’ summoned Archie, ‘you’ve left everyone dry. Fill up the glasses down that end will you.’

  ‘Not my fault,’ said Charlie. ‘Every one of you is drinking like a fish, we’ll all be blottoed in no time.’

  ‘Speak for yourself,’ said Primrose, the shoulder of her dress having slipped down her arm.

  With plates full of food and glasses topped up with claret the men turned to their left and us women turned to our right.

  Surprisingly, considering I’ve dined in sophisticated company before, I’ve never eaten grouse, and as Stanley banged on to me about shooting in that way only the people who do it can I took time trying to identify the flavour of my mouthful. The dark meat was unlike anything I’d eaten before. It was tough, which I suppose isn’t unusual for an animal that has been living in bleak conditions, and there was a hint of sweetness in the first chew, most likely from heather berries I guessed, but this was soon overridden by strong earthy flavours. Luckily, it being rude to leave anything on one’s plate, I liked it.

  ‘Where do you live?’ I asked when at last Stanley drew breath.

  ‘Being the second son, I have had to fend for myself with regards to housing. We have a charming pied-à-terre in Chelsea and secured a country seat rather near here a year and a half ago.’

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘Just outside the little town of Jiltwhistle. It’s a sixteenth-century castle and has the most marvellous name of Mongumery. Primrose has been tremendously busy ever since we bought it, back and forth to Peter Jones with the interior designer.’

  ‘It sounds lovely,’ I said as I slipped a big-enough forkful of food into my mouth so as to avoid having to drop my rather smaller house into conversation.

  ‘Well, we thought so. Bought it on the spot and although it came without land we shall be very happy there bringing up our family.’

  ‘Do you have children?’ I asked, focusing on keeping the conversation going rather than interesting.

  ‘None yet but we’re hoping for some soon.’ Stanley turned his head and smiled up the table to his wife who for once had taken her eyes off him. She was watching Hailey who’d got up and was staggering down our side of the table.

  ‘Charlie and I want to dance!’ she said, clasping her hands on to Archie’s shoulders.

  ‘Hailey!’ said Charlotte with a teasing tone that had a hint of command. ‘In England, we stay sitting for the duration of dinner.’

  ‘I want to be American again,’ said Hailey thrusting her right arm in the air, Statue of Liberty style.

  Charlie rose from his seat and pirouetted her into the house.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Archie,’ said Charlotte.

  ‘What for? Hailey’s great!’

  George held forth. ‘It does us all well to remember that although our fine selves and Americans both speak the same language, Americans come from a completely different cultural and social heritage. We get it so wrong when we criticise them as if they were British. The simple truth is they are all immigrants.’

  ‘Quite right,’ said Primrose.

  I was worried for Princess Tatiana that George was going to continue on into foreign titles being two a penny but he lost his thread when Charlotte began clattering the plates.

  ‘Let me do that,’ I said, standing up to relieve her, but Tatiana was already on to it. I sat back down and as my bottom touched the chair a din of dated pop music boomed from the house.

  Charlotte finished the first lyric with a ‘hmmm it’s over now.’ She had rather a good voice.

  George mumbled something into Charlotte’s ear that made her cast a cheeky smile back at him. Then suddenly, as if someone had flicked a switch, Primrose grasped the empty serving platters and strode inside.

  My body physically shivered with the change in atmosphere and Daniel, thinking I looked ‘a little cold’, commented, ‘It’s getting parky out here. Arch, do you have any blankets?’

  Ready and willing, Archie pushed himself up by the arms of his chair, pulled his creased smoking jacket straight and looked down at his hard-soled evening slippers. From the glimpse I got, they appeared to be embroidered with a boar’s head eating a flower: the Norland family crest, I presumed, which had to be the only excuse for such an absurd design.

  Many titled families use their crest, that’s the bit above the helmet on their coat of arms, to decorate their possessions and it’s not unusual to see it enamelled on china and engraved on the handles of silver cutlery – any junk shop will illustrate this. However, I’ve once come across a landed family who, I think, took the theme too far. They’d substituted all their outdoor tap handles with a brass replica grasshopper from their crest, leaving no one in any doubt they did indeed own a title.

  ‘Another one bites the dust,’ said Stanley, as Archie disappeared into the house.

  ‘Sit tight,’ said Daniel smiling at his quip. ‘They’ll be back.’

  Charlotte filled up her glass and passed the bottle towards me. Gosh it’s lucky, I thought, that Darling Hugo isn’t here. I’m a hundred per cent on his side now, as hic-cupping Charlotte really should not be drinking.

  ‘Poor Charlie,’ said Daniel indiscreetly. ‘I do worry about him and what he encountered in Afghanistan.’

  ‘Is he getting help?’ asked Charlotte.

  ‘Well he’s left the army, which can only be a good thing, but until he finds a suitable companion I think he’ll just plough on pushing his issues under the carpet and nulling his mind with gak.’

  Stanley shook his head. ‘My oh my, never a good idea to mix drugs and an unstable mind.’

  ‘Or pregnancy,’ joked Charlotte.

  At which point George let out an amused grunt.

  ‘Do you partake, Susie?’ asked Daniel.

  I paused, although not to think about the question. I’ve never been tempted or had the cash for a recreational drug habit, but I just couldn’t believe Daniel singled me out.

  ‘Don’t be shy, there’s often plenty around,’ irritated Charlotte.

  ‘No, no I don’t take it.’

  ‘Me neither,’ said Stanley.

  ‘Here you go, Susie.’ Archie was back with rugs.

  ‘Go on AW, place it around her shoulders,’ encouraged Daniel.

  ‘It’s okay,’ I said laying it across my knees.

  Primrose, followed by Tatiana, reappeared.

  ‘Victoria’s left,’ spat Primrose as if she were speaking about her own staff.

  ‘What?’ said Archie.

  ‘She’s left. Gone. Just like that.’

  ‘What do you mean? How do you know?’

  ‘There was a note,’ confirmed
Tatiana. ‘It said she felt ill and has gone home.’

  ‘Poor her,’ said Stanley.

  ‘Silly girl,’ yapped Primrose, ‘she left the oven on high and now the pudding’s burnt.’

  ‘Never mind,’ said Archie. ‘Thanks to all of you, there are plenty of chocolates indoors.’

  George stood up announcing it was time for him to get the tremendous bottle of malt he’d brought.

  ‘That’s an excellent idea,’ agreed Stanley.

  Tatiana volunteered to make coffee and insisting she didn’t need any help she turned on her heel and went back into the house.

  ‘She’s very willing isn’t she?’ said Stanley.

  ‘I reckon she’s trying to impress Archie,’ said Charlotte.

  ‘You could be on to something there,’ grinned Daniel. ‘Bachelor with no staff in need of a woman around the house. She’s certainly doing her best to fit the role.’

  ‘Told you so,’ said Charlotte.

  We all looked at Archie who sat at the end of the table with an indecipherable grin on his face.

  ‘Where did you find your help for this evening?’ asked Primrose, who was hovering rather than sitting. ‘Bit frosty, isn’t she?’

  ‘You didn’t exactly give her a chance,’ defended Archie proprietorially.

  Primrose let out a faint huff, turned her back to the table and Stanley, without a word, stood up and followed her inside.

  I agreed with Primrose. Vicky was a bit frosty, but what interested me most was how Archie had defended his cook almost as if she were one of his house party. His tone implied they had a relationship beyond that of employer and employee. Not necessarily sexual but definitely close. Note to self.

  Daniel proclaimed it was about to rain, saying he could ‘feel it in the air’ and Charlotte agreed, her reason being, ‘Mini Mousey is kicking, which is a sure sign something’s up.’

  ‘Let’s have coffee inside then,’ said Archie.

  We all stood up and as no one else made any attempt to clear the table I, against my instincts, turned my back on it too. I was last through the French window into the drawing room and as I stepped over the ledge it banged shut behind me. A great shudder went through every pane and pregnant Charlotte practically toppled over on the spot. Thankfully a sofa within arm’s length caught her bulging figure.

  ‘Good God,’ she let out, short of breath. ‘Where on earth did that come from?’

  ‘There’s an almighty storm on the way,’ said Daniel, who’d followed his nose to the window and was peering out at the rapidly diminishing daylight. ‘I knew it, I could see heavy rain coming in this direction.’

  This was good news for me, as I’d been told that stormy weather affected horses and so I knew Canny’s would have been playing up again, meaning I hadn’t wasted any precious drawing time by being here this afternoon.

  Hailey had given up dancing for a seat next to Archie on the sofa, and so Charlotte shouted at Charlie to turn down the music. And by the time Tatiana entered the room with a tray of ‘coffee!’, Hailey was well and truly focused on removing the cellophane from a box of chocolates, giving Tatiana free rein to shoot Archie a coquettish glance.

  The most almighty CRACK! of thunder sounded, the speakers blew and Tatiana’s wobbling hands only just managed to settle the tray on the pouffe before the cafetière almost toppled over.

  A deep rumble grumbled in the fading sky, the lights flickered and a spectacular silver sheen invaded the room. It struck against Tatiana’s dangling diamond necklace and gave off a blinding sparkle as she made for the curtains.

  ‘Tatiana? Are you okay?’ asked Archie rushing to help her with the aged drawstrings.

  ‘Yes, yes, I’m fine,’ she brushed off his concern, and held her head high as she returned to the sofa.

  ‘I simply love dramatic weather,’ smiled Primrose who was puffed up like a grande dame in a long-backed armchair.

  Archie nestled down on the sofa between Hailey and Tatiana and Charlotte said she was going to, ‘go and find George, before he drinks all the whisky himself’. The onset of bad weather had sucked the heat of the day out the house so I moved towards the fireplace, which Stanley was fanning with bellows.

  The mantelpiece was cluttered with exquisite tea cups and saucers and the intricacy of their foliage and bird design made me think they must’ve been hand painted. I wanted to go around the whole room but the fact no one else talked about the beautiful and eccentric display made me think it was not the done thing to draw attention to people’s belongings. So, instead, feeling a pinch in my bladder, I nipped out of the room to find a loo.

  When I passed through the sitting room on my way to the hall (where most country houses have a loo), I paused to have a nosey around. I wanted to get to know Archie a bit better without having to ask too many personal questions. This wasn’t a dishonest thought – well, not totally, as my conscience dictates: anything I find lying around is free property, the owner clearly not minding if it’s seen.

  I took in two stiff invitations on the mantelpiece (or chimney piece as people here would refer to it). Both were in accordance with the upper-class format (any variation being considered pretentious): issued on stiff off-white engraved card, printed with curly-wurly raised type, one in dark blue and the other in black.

  The first was a christening card of a chubby child in a Victorian lace gown. His name, Jonathan Michael Grant Fortismead, the only indication he was male. I bet Archie has several godchildren for the obvious reason parents like to pick their richest, most successful and well-connected friends.

  Next to it was an invitation from Lord and Lady Loveday (what a sweet name) to the christening in two months’ time of their daughter Violet Priscilla (VPL being unfortunate initials for a girl, I thought).

  If I had a mantelpiece, which I don’t, I hope I wouldn’t fall into this trap of displaying forthcoming engagements. To us mere mortals it’s a brash show but there must be another reason, as everyone does it.

  Propped up behind these was a large card from the auction house Sotheby’s, inviting The Hon. Archibald Wellingham to a private view of the late Lord Fanbury’s collection.

  I shouldn’t think Archie will be attending this one as, other than porcelain that he’d made clear to me was ‘business’, art doesn’t appear to play a huge part in his life. All I’d seen so far were a couple of gloomy ancestors looming below the minstrel gallery and two stale Dutch still lifes hanging either side of my bed. But then again, maybe his father’s castle has the majority of the collection…

  Shriek! came sharp and loud, hurtling across the room, snapping me out of art musing, sending me spinning around, no time to wipe the guilt from my face. Hailey was crumpled in the doorway, her toothpick heels no longer holding her upright.

  ‘Crumbs, Hailey. Are you okay?’

  ‘Gee,’ she took in a hiccup and second time lucky grasped hold of my hand. She was as light as a feather and as unsteady as jelly.

  ‘Have you hurt yourself?’ I asked, making sure to keep hold of her as she wiggled off her shoes. A very sensible decision I thought at the time.

  ‘Nah, thankth Thuthie, I’m looking for Lotty.’

  ‘I haven’t seen her. She went to find George.’

  Hailey’s bare feet pranced silently up the red-velveted stairs and with a now bursting bladder I went directly to find a loo.

  Sitting on the seat, giving up on the doggerel about gun safety on my right, I turned to my left to scan the scroll of the Wellingham family tree. It was both old and hard to decipher, but clear that Archibald, Anne, Charles and Elizabeth had been popular family names. Our Archie was the elder of two brothers… the younger, Humphrey, I remember someone mentioning was working abroad.

  On my way back to the drawing room, I found Yin and Yang shivering under the hall table and stopped to give them a comforting pat. As hard as I tried to encourage them to follow me, they weren’t for moving. Resolutely I stood up and then froze on the spot as I could hear voices up the ba
ckstairs.

  ‘You go to bed,’ George was saying, ‘you’re in no fit state to stay up.’

  ‘But what do I do?’ Charlotte’s voice pleaded as the floorboards above creaked under the weight of them both.

  ‘Leave it to me, I’ll handle it,’ said George.

  And then, making sure I got well ahead of the footsteps above me, I made for the drawing room.

  ‘Please help yourself to coffee, Susie,’ said Archie with no sign of having wondered where I’d been.

  ‘Thank you. But I’m okay.’

  ‘You’d prefer this wouldn’t you?’ said Daniel pouring out a glass of champagne and thrusting it into my hand.

  Why not! I said to myself as I took a seat on the sofa next to Charlie. I hardly ever drink champagne.

  George trundled jovially into the room. ‘Charlotte passes on her goodnights,’ he said.

  ‘Oh,’ Charlie sounded surprised. ‘Has she turned in already?’

  ‘Well it is past midnight,’ prompted Primrose, at which point shoeless Hailey entered the room, shot a death stare at George and wobbled her way in next to Archie on the sofa. Tatiana, on his other side, swung her legs away. I don’t blame her. It’s no fun competing with liberated women.

  ‘Where’s that whisky?’ asked Stanley who was standing by his now roaring fire.

  ‘Dammit, look at that,’ said George. ‘I forgot to bring it down.’

  ‘Forgot?’ said Primrose. ‘But you’ve been gone ages.’

  ‘No I haven’t!’ said George.

  Charlie bounced up and crossed the room. ‘Don’t worry chum, I’ll go.’

  ‘No,’ said George gruffly. ‘My whisky’s too good to drink at this stage in the evening.’ His eyes then lit up, as he suggested absinthe instead. ‘Arch I reckon you’ve got some in your cellar, that’s where you keep it isn’t it?’

  ‘Now we’re talking,’ said Charlie, grinning at Archie.

  ‘How do you know it’s in my cellar?’

  ‘We,’ said Daniel, ‘stashed it down there in the spring when you brought a case back from Switzerland. Don’t you remember that weekend? When George and I did all the heavy lifting.’